The Raven's Basilisk

Birds and buildings reached above the clouds, while below in the streets of Centropolis the crowds moved along the early November sidewalks. Their focus on the shops and boutiques that lines the small shopping square in Centropolis, not the man weaving between them. Most simply ignored him pulling their soon to be winter jackets a bit closer, the air cooling just enough to convince most that breaking out their thicker winter wear early was the wiser choice for the noonday. Though a few did spare a glance, eyes drawn to the guitar across the man's back the instrument seemingly out of place.

Out of a great many things that had a place here in the square Izime knew he wasn't one. The few looks he received he returned with a smile, watching the crowd as he moved through. Taking in every single movement and moment of the people and the place around him. The oddly comfortable mixture of buildings clashing with the otherworldly sensibilities behind his teal eyes. This wasn't a place where he could say he belonged, but he'd still found a home of sorts.

The square filled with the gentle rhythm of a makeshift drum as two people stayed motionless in the flow of the busy shopping area. Izime watched as the crowd passing around them like a bend in a river. Never halting just curving their flow around the obstruction, while he was just a small trout returning to the comfort of those still waters. Weaving closer towards the two, Izime walked up to the man sitting on a lifted concrete flower bed. Wesson, one of the first people Izime had met in Centropolis or at least gotten along with decently.

The dark-skinned man was seated with one worn boot stomping a steady rhythm onto a five-gallon bucket at his feet. Thick woolen jacket showing stains and wear from the years as a yellowed bandanna held his dreads back from his brown eyes.

Twirling around him was a small girl, Wesson's daughter Shya. Her twisted braids swinging with the rainbow of beads that decorated the tightly woven rows. A small tambourine in her hands, the small toy tom and cheap metal cymbals enthusiastically playing a counter rhythm. The clothes she wore obviously much newer, the thick pink fluffy jacket still shiny and stainless. Though her jeans had a few holes the faded pink pajama pants poking through underneath provided extra warmth.

"Slow ass day Wesson," Izime complained, leaning back and watching as Wesson's daughter twirled away happily. The young girl not yet fully aware of her father's struggles with busking in the chilling November marketplace. More focused on earning smiles than cash as she performed for the few shoppers that paused long enough to give a second glance. Something Izime certainly wouldn't begrudge the young girl of, he'd already had his share of burdens.

Wesson nodded in appreciation at Izime who was returning, holding two steaming cups of coffee under one arm and what he assumed was hot chocolate in his other hand. Izime had taken extra care to not spill the cups, walking with over his back after taking a break from guitar and vocals. Wesson cast a worried look over Izime, the coffee stains wouldn't add or detract from the tattered dark brown hoodie Izime was wearing over his nicer but still ratty jacket. Both of the coats adding layers that hid the Caucasian man's thin frame while the jeans and boots he wore looked just as worn as Wesson's own clothes if not worse. Mostly because they had previously belonged to the more experienced homeless man.

"Say less, is a good thing to be walking round the market with yo' guitar d'oh." Wesson nodded casting a glance at the small gathering of bills sitting in the small case that usually held the toy tambourine. The toy obviously didn't go to the very expensive looking round case Izime had found but Shya had few precious things, and the case fit her toy perfectly. Izime had offered it to the girl to keep her own instrument safe without a second thought or any explanation.

The strange black polymer was just heavy enough to stay put and seemed to shield the days take regardless of how windy it got. A take that was looking like a rough split if Izime took his cut. Something Wesson knew he had been holding back on for their sake. Brown eyes holding that slightly worried look, the tense features on Wesson's face slowly easing as he turned towards Izime.

"Bit of advertising," Izime nodded placing one of the coffees down one the planter, not needing to look to know what had Wesson's tone worried, the two struggling far more than he was now. With winter fast approaching Izime asked Wesson for a bit of help with their busking, hoping to fill the case a bit more. "Think you can give me back-lines for 'I'm the Sinner' after this?"

Wesson gave a slow nod as he reached for the hot cup of coffee, thinking that the slow deep intro Izime was asking for would do well to draw attention. The bluesy song suited Izime's voice, even if he lacked range the white boy could still pour in that soul. It was obvious the younger man had put in practice at some point in his life. Combined with Wesson's own deeper tone and the natural acoustic reverb of the shopping square it was a sure way to score some quick cash.

Taking a slow sip of his warm coffee Wesson glanced upwards towards the dropping sun before calling his daughter over. "First acts almost done see, Shya come get a cupp'a hot chocolate."

Shy turned and stopped the little rhythm she'd been tapping out, quickly running back the short distance to her father, looking down at the old dirty planter he was sitting on and finding nothing. Her bright green eyes instead turned towards Uncle Izime who was already standing there and holding out a cup of the sweet marshmallow topped drink.

"Hey Shya think you can give me a bump and tap on the next rest?" Izime bent down and asked the young girl while holding out the cup of hot chocolate, "the pause after your dad stomps?"

"Yay!" Shya smiled brightly took the paper cup blowing quickly she took a tiny sip. Quickly covering her mouth with the back of her hand, the drink still a bit to warm as it burned her lips. Scowling as her hot chocolate betrayed her Shya walked over and sat it in time-out next to her father's cup of coffee. The young girl looking up at her father and uncle Izime who were watching the crowd, their minds full of the things that worried adults Shya asked. "Uncle is gonna sing?"

Izime smirked at Wesson, taking a few sips of his own steaming coffee before nodding at Shya. The heat already being pulled away by the November chill bringing the steam wafting around Izime's face as he watched the shoppers pass by. Listening to the square filling with white noise of idle chatter, the small chiming addition of the toy tambourine now absent.

Izime waiting until there was a slight lull in white noise, calculating the near perfect moment he reached back and slip his guitar around. Pulling the strap with a finger Izime felt the comfortable weight of the old electric acoustic in front of him. The worn wood looking just as rough as the stained brown jacket he had over his plaid button up. Izime adjusted his jacket getting a before grabbing the cheap split body neck and running his hands over the strings softly he could feel the wooden body begin to fill with vibrations. Taking a final sip Izime gave a nod in appreciation at the sound, turned and sat his coffee on the concrete planter.

"On three?" Izime look towards his fellow buskers and family, regarding Wesson and then Shya as he waited for a nod. Wesson didn't bother replying, instead simply beginning the intro to the song. Izime tapped on his guitar setting the count as Wesson's lower baritone slowly began to reverberate around the square.

Pulling the chill November air in Izime was immediately glad he had gotten a cup of hot coffee. The colder air threatening to take his attempt at 'raspy' and snapping the note as his voice nearly broke. Izime shook head and doubled down as the air left his lungs, the square filled with the sound of his voice. Izime watched Shya's big eyes looking between her father's worn boot and himself, feet dancing nervously afraid she might miss her first notes. The deep thump of a worn boot on a bucket was shortly followed by a small tap and crash of cheap metal, Izime giving an approving nod to ease Shya's worry.

Shya's smile eased as she watched her uncle sing. Her tiny body losing that little tense nervousness she always felt when they performed, but she knew they needed to do their absolute best when they helped Izime. Even at her young age she had easily draw the correlations between a good performance and having a better night. Izime's smile was a sure sign that this show would go off well. A good show meant a clean bed, a few great shows could add up to a new jacket or even a treat. The only time they had a chance to really amp up their performances was when Uncle Izime was in town.

Shya knew it was up to her to and her father to make the most of the rare chances they had, not wanting to waste it. At a tender age she had realized her life was a bit different that the others at school, something that had upset her after a while. After a few long talks with her father and Izime she had agreed that working to better their lives was more productive that hating their situation uselessly.

All three had to admit that work was rather hard, despite their efforts the small crowd still kept moving on regardless. Though now more than a few paused to tap their feet. The three buskers filled the square with a touch of live music. Some among the toe tappers moving to toss bills or to record with their cellphones. Wesson giving Izime an encouraging nod, the inclusion of social media usually encouraging generosity. The phones working their magic as some of those not even stopping to listen simply wandered through the frame to toss in their own change.

The three trailing into other more exciting genres that the attention-grabbing blues as the attention song ended. All the while scanning the crowd, finding those who could be worked with. Shya dance happily with some passing children, Izime carefully lowering his volume and changing to a lullaby as a family with a stroller full of tiny sleepers passed by. Wesson doing a bit of rapping as the acoustic songs were burned out on the crowd. Each carefully finding the moments where they could give a more personal touch, possibly squeezing out those few extra desperately needed pennies. The small gathering of bills growing slowly but steadily until the sun had finally dropped far enough that the squares lighting kicked on.

Wesson's foots slowing, already tired and his throat a little sore from providing backing vocals. Watching as Izime slid his guitar off his shoulder and sat it down, hand rubbing at fingers tired from reaching for frets. Shya's tambourine tapping coming to an end as she looked dejectedly at the lamps flickering to life around them, the first signs of an approaching bedtime.

The squares lighting system activating was something Wesson and Izime had agreed was the best sign to close up shop for the day. Shya having school during the weekdays and neither of them wanting to try and work the rowdier weekend crowds. Younger adults more prone to antagonizing than enjoying the music. then there were the drunks that enjoyed fighting after leaving the high-end bars. None of it was worth the trouble they might rouse or running the risk of getting kicked from the square.

"Another day wid'it, finna get your cut brudda?" Wesson nodded towards the case in Izime's hands as the three left the square through a less traveled back alley, a path more comfortable socially for the three less attractive aspects of society.

"Nah Wess I'm good. I still got some stashed, but I want you and this little queen to get out of the shelters for a bit." Izime gave Shya a exaggerated flourishing bow before turning to shove the case into Wesson's arms, "Find a motel, I hear about you two couching it in a trap house I'll break my guitar over your fucking head."

"You," Wesson was about to let it slide until he felt the unexpected heft of the case. Yanking Izime back before quickly undoing the clasp to at least peek inside, there among the loose change and pocket money lay a brick of much newer crisper bills still in their bank bands.

Wesson swallowing dryly as he considered what little he knew of his 'brother'. Izime had been a worse state than Wesson had originally, now in just a few years the roles had reversed. Wesson had found him with little beyond the rags he had managed to turn into clothes. Now just a handful of years later Wesson found himself once again thanking his stars for the turn in karma, but that only worried him all the more.

Wesson quickly clasping the case back closed and leaning closer to Izime trying to whisper through his tense nerves so Shya couldn't hear, "You ain't doing anything stupid Iz? That's a stack... an actual stack."

"It's clean and so am I," Izime just shook his head thinking of things Wesson was better off not knowing. The words were true enough, though it had taken some work to turn that clean money into earth cash, "by the way I wasn't asking."

Wesson gritted his teeth ignoring Izime's aggressive tone on the last part, taking the case that was now stuffed full of loose bills and an actual strapped band of much larger bills. It was clear enough that Izime wasn't being completely honest, or at least not revealing the crux of the issue. Wesson could also tell that it was more complicated than some petty crime. Still Izime was his brother, and he trusted him to not put Shya in danger. If his brother said the money was clean, then it was; where it came from didn't matter nearly as much as making sure Shya and himself were taken care of. Wesson had to wonder, maybe Izime was doing something questionable or shameful, but he wouldn't endanger Shya, ever.

"Iz... you leaving again hm?" Wesson gave Izime a knowing look, the man had stuck around for nearly three whole months this time, but Wesson hadn't forgotten that look. Worry forcing the man back into his native creole for a moment, "Jus come back, 'souple."

"Need to take a trip same as ever, but I will, so you two make the most of that." Izime explained, tossing a lazy punch at Wesson's shoulder while they both watched Shya play. "I had a run of luck and realized, don't need it. Not like the rest of my family, its clean, safe, and you're family so I want to hear that your clean and safe to."

"Same, right back at you." Wesson managed a smile through his worry, grinning the irony of his brother's lighter skin in his own hand. The shorter dreaded man pulling his lighter skinned brother in for a shoulder bump before releasing the man.

Wesson carefully tucked the case under his arm before turning towards a pile of refuse in the alley as he began to remove the camouflage. Tossing a few bags and boxes to reveal a shopping cart that had been disguised as trash. Packed full of various bags and other luggage, bits of clothing and blankets poking through the mesh. Keeping their clothes and stockpile of food safe from the weather and prying eyes. Digging around, finding a place to bury the case before grabbing an extra jacket for Shya. Wesson turned the cart to wheel it down the alley trying to think of a question to ask his daughter, simply something to distract her.

"Motel 5 or Best Sleep-Inns..." Wesson's words dying out as he watched his once much younger daughter doing her best to act just as big as both Izime and him tried to convince her she was.

The girl's father not sure if he actually wanted his daughter to be quite so mature during moments like this. It wasn't appropriate to throw a fit, but it was certainly understandable, the girl was dearly attached to Izime. Wesson wishing for a moment Shya would ask the question they'd talked her out of her years back.

"Now Shya, you be good OK." Izime turned towards his excitable niece, smiling brightly and confidently. Happy to take care of the two most important people in his new life, even if the means were complicated. It wasn't illegal and it let Izime take care of those who needed it.

"Going on another trip?" Shya stopped tapping at her tambourine letting it fall to her side, eyes dropping as her tiny fist wiped at at eyes that certainly weren't getting wet. Taking a shaky breath Shya found a can to kick at releasing her frustration. It had taken a few years for her to learn that getting upset when her uncle left wouldn't solve anything, but it still didn't settle her heart, watching the little family she had leave.

Now that Shya was bigger, she understood Izime wasn't homeless like she was. She couldn't afford a home, Izime moved around to much to have one. It felt hurtful but a part of her young heart whispered that uncle Izime didn't care about having a home with them. Though another part yelled back that it was because uncle cared about making sure they were cared for.

Shya wasn't dumb, she had also connected Izime's visits to the better times in her family's life. If Uncle Izime stopped by they stayed in hotels, went swimming, and could eat at McRonalds whenever she wanted. They sang and played for the extra, not because their stomachs would go empty otherwise. Shya torn between childishly calling the torn feeling she felt jealousy or recognizing the more mature love of letting go to enjoy what life had already given her.

"I'll probably be back around January." Izime nodded at Shya as he bent his knees to give the girl a warm look, holding his arms open for a hug which Shya quickly gave. Izime tentatively giving her and Wesson a rough timeframe on his return to Centropolis at the same time, unsure of just how long he intended to spend traveling. Sometimes it was a bit rough looking for places in the super-hero influenced world to ply his particular trade.

"Go' on south, be best to stay till spring." Wesson assumed Izime was chasing the warmer climates to do physical labor, only bothering to ask for one minor thing for his daughter. "Be a treat for Shya to see you on the holidays but we know the kitchens aren't exactly welcoming."

Izime paused for a moment as he considered all the places he could go and had already gone in this rather odd universe. South didn't hold much promise aside from involving himself in the magical markets around Louisiana. West there was Middle City where FazzPazz and Thorn always seemed to be going back and forth as their super speeds in a time-traveling rivalry. Centropolis where he resided now in the middle of the USA was the legendary Thessian psychic's home city. Then there was Radiation Man who was always flying around the globe doing his Zexxian best as the world's defender, always returning to that little farm in Kansas.

"North, got some business around Voltham City. Christmas is... I'll try and swing by but no promises." Izime shook his head, taking a slow breath as he offered a soft commitment. Considered how much nicer it would be to go south let alone just stay. Finally watching as Wesson began to turn the cart down the alley towards one of their little homes, probably the bridge overpass near Gateway.

"I'm headed this way, you two be safe here in Centropolis OK?" Izime didn't look back to listen to their protests, his smile dropping as he recalled the barely hospitable winter havens, they would be in. Ears already tuning out any calls the two might have made Izime continued quickly down the alley opposite of his family.

The little catching up he could do with the man who'd saved his life years ago was all Izime could take. The pleas to stay just one more day, to enjoy the winter in their company would be too hard to resist and Shya could only hold back so long. It was better to slip away before he became too integral too involved beyond being the funny 'uncle' that stopped by once a blue moon. Turning his head just barely, Izime called back to Shya unsure if she could still hear him. "Be good for Wesson Shya!"

Izime knew it was probably a bit mean, but he'd already had a life. It had been difficult but educational in hindsight and this one had its high-points so far as well. Izime just wasn't going to get deeply involved, he'd had one life already all that pain involved with it. The once lived human had already lost one family so he felt quite comfortable with his decision. Keeping that soft detachment, trading the paper cuts for the driving dagger. This was just a second run at the same simulations, albeit with a few major alterations. Heroes and Villains, the tradeoff being there was no propagation and no Bell.

It was a plan for living this time around actually living to some degree, a better plan than the one he'd he had before that had ended in nothing but loss. Izime knew he was simply a cheap imitation, his efforts then an insult to those who'd made him; an insult what Bell had wanted Izime to be. Here in this world he could do more even if it meant he was missing out on some things it offered, easing those forgotten burdens was its own reward. Sometimes being human was a pain, Izime smiled at the thought stretching his neck as he walked.

His mind returning to thinking about where his plans would be taking him. The hot box of activity and possibility of profit, the high crime area between Voltham City and N.Y.C.'s metropolis, prime grounds for turning a profit quickly. He wasn't technically a super-hero himself, Izime was a bit of an odd jobs kinda guy.

If you wanted to be more accurate, Izime had traded his super-hero ideas to play the recycling and resource-management game he knew best in this world where pickings were prime. There were massive galactic markets in this super-hero infused reality and exactly how many people were reselling earth goods on them? This was an opportunity to use the skills he'd honed on a scale he'd never imagined before. Not blenders or blankets but the scraps from super-hero and villain clashes.

If you needed 1000ft of high strength cable to run a rock-climbing expo on a high-g world for cheap?

Izime was the guy you called.

If a ship full of refugees needed fluid pumps, demons wanted some drugs, or security forces high quality traps for the cheap?

Izime was the guy that showed up.

Hell, the scavenging possibilities left over by the Dark Night family were a treasure trove just waiting for him to arrive. Let alone when things like the Razzoren Fleet had invaded, there was junk scattered every where while teams of hero's battled around Manhattan. Simply kicking a bit of rubble over could reveal thousands in alien technology, some of EagleEye's arrows, a broken portion of the Steel-Suits armor.

There were risks involved as well, but after years of successful hero scavenging Izime was one of the best. Not a hard title to achieve when you were basically the only one in the business. Sure there were some teams in deep space hauling ship scrap, or looking for the odd relic for some evil overlord, that wasn't Izime's market though. Those overlords were putting out active requests, Izime had a more door-to-door approach with his long forgotten or simply odd clientele.

Hailing from a reality where markets had once collapsed under the influence of amazon prime, Izime knew the sheer value of speedy deliveries. That same reality had given him a short-cut to creating one of the best methods of accomplishing that in this world. Izime even a quick list of some of the best possible clients and loot after verifying the absurd universe he was in. A perk Izime had acquired after being raised by the largest nerds on the far side of reality, knowledge he'd maybe ever so slightly abused. Pranking that nazi schmuck stuck guarding Soul Diamond just for kicks. Saved refugees from the barren surface of Kiven while it burned, right under Vhainos' nose and even held a sample of the Father Hexagon at one point. Izime had found it shortly after the League had battled VoidSide.

Izime risked a glance back, check to see if he was clear just out of habit. Glancing up towards the top of a familiar skyscraper he lined up his ring finger, middle and pointer over his thumb. Snapping them in rapid succession leaving only a few lingering sparks that dissipated before they reached the street below. Izime magically arriving at his destination before the sparks of seared warped space could dissapate.

Super-human intellect able to cheat its way around the ability to recall locations, fast travel like this was one of the keys to keeping Izime's business booming. A method he'd developed after swiping a gate-ring, one he'd found after scavenging a sorcerer battle. After running a few tests with its runes to verify that his idea was possible he found a no-name shop in Tibet. One very well payed tattoo artist had then inked the key runes of the gate-ring unknowingly into Izime's fingers.

The metal shaving from the ring and those symbols had been buried deep into Izime's fingertips, with a snap it activated the personal slip spell that had Izime had pulled from the rings original design. Now there was no need for a gate, waving, or even physically moving as the entire spell simplified to nothing more than a thought.

Sure, there were some safety measures missing, probably all of them in fact. Izime also couldn't make an actual 'gate' like a true sorcerer, though considering the benefits that was minor. The activation speed was much faster, none of that hand waving nonsense required. There was also the fact that unless his enemy was aware that he was using magic there was no counter beyond physically removing his hands.

Izime stuffed those rune etched hands into his pockets, ignoring the much colder winds at the top of the building, pursing his lips to call out to his partner and child in this world. A shrill humming whistle reaching out with an almost electronic warble under the note as if someone had tinged the notes in binary. Keeping his hands in his hoodie pockets Izime waited patiently for the familiar black winged bird to appear. His eyes catching a familiar black streak that was coursing through the sky.

Cradle the Raven heard its bonds call to leave from the radio tower it most certainly hadn't been snacking on. Using the reality bending technology that had aided its birth to break the laws of physics. Moving at above mach speeds without a ripple in the passing air the black wings flapped only for effect.

Izime pulled one arm free, holding it out with his fist clenched in expectation. Watching as the black streak halted its course, braking in the air with an impossible stopping speed for any natural creature. The stress from unseen forces pulling some of the metallic feathers free from the energy that kept them safely locked in place at other times. The creature looked like a mixture on nanites and a certain mechanized series of Bay movies from Izime's origin reality.

Cradle not waiting for those extra parts to rejoin, instead flapping eagerly towards its bond. This time relying on natural flight, its wings giving a mechanical rustle. The trailing feathers twisting and circling in some field of unseen energy before realigning to settle back in to the ravens spread wings.

"Hey Cradle," Izime reached with his hand, rubbing a knuckle at the birds breast while it hovered. Izime admiring the incredible creature while asking what Cradle had been busy with, "what did you get today?"

Cradle tilted its head, one of its eyes turning the yellow lenses rotating underneath as a projector was exposed. A short fuzzy clip of the bird picking at tech scrap played. A black metal beak picking at the exposed RAM in a trashed PC, tiny gray clawed talons pulling at coils of wire in a junkyard before a black beak quickly gobbled them down. Cradle tucking the damage done to the radio tower deep in its core-drive as it replayed the things it knew wouldn't get it in ttrouble.

"Good job Cradle." Izime proudly brushed at the raven's breast, finally holding his arm out for Cradle to land on. Feeling a bit more whole now as the familiar but still lighter than expected weight returned. Relaxing fully into the mental connection with his bond, sharing in its pride and joy.

Izime had at first regretted using that tiny sliver of the Father Hexagon on the bird's egg he had found. The speckled off white and gray had been infected with the higher reality-technology, the shell crick-a-ling and crack-a-ling as it scabbed over with that black sheen. Regretfully thinking he had wasted the sliver on a dead egg, wondering if the idea of saving it with the alien technology had been a completely imbecilic idea. The thing had restored a human by all accounts and even as childish as it was Izime had wanted the egg to hatch.

Even after his entire first life Izime couldn't help his instincts, he still wanted to forge his own even if it was just a little living thing. That little thing had laid there dead by all methods Izime could use to tell from his human body. Abandoning his watch over the wasted egg, Izime was shocked to find it had hatched only a few hours later.

A few hours into Izime taking a nap that was, waking only because of the ruckus caused as a few shelves tipped over. Pulling at heaps of technological refuse that was rattling about, revealing a happily feasting and astoundingly fast growing mechanical chick. Already molting the weird fluffy white down wires it called feathers in favor of the now familiar black sheen.

"Time to get ready for another Voltham City run?" Izime asked, waiting until Cradle had flapped its feathers a few times to settle before giving a scissor sharp clack of its beak. Turning its head sharply to regard Izime as it thought of all the rewards Voltham offered.

"Money Money!" Cradle flapped excitedly, turning its head skyward calling out. Already tasting the finer pickings, the five course meal of technologically enhanced heroes and villains in Voltham offered.

"Gateway Bridge first, then Voltham." Izime nodded feeling the feedback from Cradles own excitement, carefully reigning his own in. Mentally recalling every detail of the hideout he had established in Centropolis before snapping away.

Arriving inside the hollow under the girder access location beneath the once famous suspension bridge. The space wasn't large at all, and he had to duck under the reach of the massive steel beams but it made a decent cubby to stash his junk in while he was in Centropolis. The stop wasn't going to take long, Izime was just quickly popping in to grab a couple of duffel bags. Ones that Cradle was already casting a blue light over through the dark. Izime grabbing the black weatherproof bags from the rough poured concrete floor and tossing one over his shoulder. Between the guitar case already on his back and the added duffel there wasn't enough room for a third. Izime adjusting the load a bit as he was forced to carry the second bag in his off hand while Cradle side stepped its way up Izime's shoulder.

"Based off of Blane's programs and our own predictions this should be a prime time to drop in," Izime gave a look at the Cradle, the two of them checking the data. Graphs, charts and maps popping up and minimizing in rapid succession. All currently projected the potential hottest spots for villain activity internally Voltham to Izime's vision. "I'm ready, you?"

Cradle rocked its head in agreement, watching as its bond raised his magically charged hand to displace them across reality, a soft echo of 'money money' the last remaining sign that anyone had ever visited the unreachable gap between the tension house and the concrete below. Izime, Cradle and their gear transferring just over a thousand miles. The two vanishing from the sprawling spread of Centropolis at center of the U.S. to the eastern coast in less than a second.